


Paris

by DevBasaa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Captain America: The First Avenger, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevBasaa/pseuds/DevBasaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mishap with one of Stark's latest inventions leaves Steve and Bucky stranded in Paris.  They find a way to pass the time.</p><p>An answer to Steve and Bucky's pillow talk in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1654712">'What Would Have Happened'</a> where it's mentioned they get stranded in Paris and have nothing better to do than "suck each other's---"  </p><p>Not necessary to read the related work for this one. This is a stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [AngelDibs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelDibs/pseuds/AngelDibs) said: "Although I must say, I would really love to read about what happened in Paris."
> 
> And that was pretty much all it took. I decided I wanted to explore their Paris mis-adventure.
> 
> Rated 'Explicit' for the entire work, but this first part is technically 'gen' or 'teen'.

Howard Stark was not Bucky Barnes’ favorite person. Besides having many opinions that he never hesitated to share, Bucky swore he waited until he had a large enough crowd to share them and gave impromptu presentations that could double as stage performances. But, really, worst of all, whenever the Howling Commandos crossed paths with SSR command, Howard had a habit of monopolizing Steve’s time. 

As such, Bucky never claimed to be happy to see him.

So with a roll of his eyes, Bucky approached a small gathering of Steve, Howard, Jim and a few unknown, SSR uniformed sycophants outside the barracks during the Commandos latest supply and regroup stop.

Howard hadn’t started talking yet, fussing with the seat of the motorcycle they all stood around. Only it wasn’t a _normal_ motorcycle. It had small wing-like appendages on either side of both wheels and the side car had an even odder shape than usual, like a gigantic bullet. Between the handle-bars was a large display with three different types of gauges.

Since no one spoke a word, waiting patiently for Howard to start—and, besides, it would annoy Howard—Bucky announced his arrival with a rather loud: “What is this thing?!”

Howard slowly straightened and gave Bucky a tense look that only made Bucky grin; mission accomplished.

“This,” Howard started, slowly at first, but then he moved into his usual theatrical voice, “is an experimental motorcycle. It can move swifter than anything you’ve ever seen.” He patted one of the wing appendages. “It uses my Gravitic Reversion Technology—

“Didn’t we watch that blow at the 1943 World’s Exposition?” Bucky directed the question to Steve, whose face brightened at the memory, but then he tried to dampen his grin. He gave Bucky an amused, but _stop it_ sort of glance.

Bucky swore he saw Howard’s face twitch. 

“It’s better now, OK?” Howard said to Bucky. Then he turned so Bucky was edged out of the presentation circle. One of the sycophants gave Bucky a withering, side-long look; Bucky grinned wider.

“I re-calibrated the repulsor and upped the magnetism,” Howard went on. “It even has a guidance sensor so it’ll react before you do to obstacles and adjust since it’ll be flying faster than your reflexes—even yours, Cap. But it still needs some fine tuning, so I’m looking for on-the-ground testing to know what my next step should be. So what’da say, Cap? Take it for your next mission?”

Steve looked over the cycle, running his hand across the bars and studying the gauges. “I don’t see why not. As long as it gets me where I need to go.”

Howard smiled. “Oh, it will, but before everyone else, so you’d better take a partner.”

Steve then glanced at Bucky and gave one nod; Bucky nodded back. That was all the communication they needed sometimes. It’d driven the other Commandos a little nuts, at first—wondering how so much could be said when the two of them wouldn’t always speak—but then they adjusted and even figured out a kind of signaling system that they all used. It made them a closer unit.

Howard continued to talk. “Besides, at this stage, I recommend always riding with someone in the side car. You’ll need the extra weight to keep it on the ground.”

“Why does this sound like a worse idea the more he explains it?”

Jim snorted, but Steve didn’t grin this time.

“Bucky...”

The warning tone in Steve’s voice was enough for Bucky. He always followed his Captain; always had. Bucky put up his hands in surrender and walked away. He knew all he needed, anyway; he’d get to have a Stark exclusive, experimental joyride.

~*~

They were just inside the border of Switzerland and their next mission would center near Bruneck, Italy. Steve and Bucky planned to scout ahead, with the experimental cycle, and meet the rest of the Commandos with a new camp site. Bucky patted the transponder in his cargo pants’ pocket. They would activate it once they arrived so the others could easily track them—one of Stark’s other inventions that, Bucky had to confess, worked very well for the team.

Bucky climbed into the bullet side car and threaded a strap across his lap, though he doubted the canvas belt would help much. Steve started up the engine and it roared to life, louder than a normal cycle. Howard yelled into Steve’s ear, pointing and then flicking a switch that caused the wings to turn and rumble to life.

Bucky startled when he realized they were hovering, then watched each one, looking for signs of an oncoming explosion.

“You’re perfectly safe, Sargent!” Howard shouted near Bucky’s ear. He nodded, but made a face, not convinced; he pulled his goggles into place.

If Steve warned that he’d pressed the accelerator, Bucky missed it. His head jerked back and his body hit against the small seat-back in the side car as they took off.

“Sorry!” Steve shouted over the engine and rushing air. “That’s some pick-up!”

And it was. Bucky touched his face because it felt like the wind might rip the skin from his cheeks. He grimaced as that image brought to mind watching Red Skull pull flesh from his own horrific face. If Bucky never thought about that again, it’d be too soon.

The world around them was nothing more than a blur.

Steve leaned into the handle-bars and started to make a turn. Then Bucky heard a noise, an awful electrical sound. He knew it; the damn thing was about to blow! He risked a glanced over the side-car edge to see sputtering from the front wing-repulsors, little blue sparks erupting. Then they started slowing down.

Bucky turned to Steve to see him revving the accelerator, the main engine roared with each attempt, but the repulsors weren’t responding.

“Maybe we can just use it as a regular cycle,” Steve yelled. “The engine is still working.”

“Yeah, but will the wheels turn?”

Then there was another noise and flash of blue sparks. The repulsors seemed brighter than before, flaring to life and rising even higher from the ground. Then they were moving again, faster and faster—

Backwards!

Bucky gripped the edge of the side car. “What the hell is happening!?”

“I don’t know!” Steve flicked switches and applied the brakes; the bike moved faster.

Bucky pitched forward as the bike accelerated at an even more dizzying speed. He shoved his boots against the inside walls of the side car as momentum threatened to throw him from his seat.

“Make it stop!”

“I’m trying!” Steve frantically looked over his shoulder, desperate to maneuver in reverse, but how he could see anything at this speed, Bucky didn’t know.

“I TOLD you this was a bad idea! We should abandon it!”

“NO!” Steve looked directly at him. “It’s too fast, you’ll be hurt!”

Bucky stared at Steve a moment, then glanced backward to see the world racing at them from the wrong direction. Only a super soldier could pitch himself from this careening death trap and survive. Damn Howard! While Bucky always knew accepting a place with the Howling Commandos meant he was willing to die for Steve, he didn’t necessarily want to do it today! And not from the side car of an out-of-control experiment. There were more honorable ways to die! He gripped the canvas belt strap and cursed Stark a lot; his knuckles turned white.

Then Bucky heard Steve yell, “I’m going to try something!” And soon after Bucky felt the bike turn, the navigational sensor causing it to slow as Steve banked it hard.

Then Steve yelled, “Hold on!” and grabbed Bucky around the chest. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders and felt them both roll, airborne, as Steve threw them from the bike. Steve landed on his shield, taking the brunt of the ground hit, Bucky tucked against his side. They slid away from the bike as it tumbled over and over. They and the bike came to a skidding stop twenty-five feet apart.

Bucky didn’t want to let go of Steve; his heart hammered against his ribcage and he felt breathless from the panic. He had Steve’s uniform gripped in his fists. After a few breaths, Bucky slowly lifted his head to see the bike on its side, the side car crushed, the wheels spinning still, a thin trail of smoke drifting away from the wreckage.

“Son of a bitch.” Bucky dropped his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, panting.

Steve held Bucky a little tighter; Bucky at least took comfort that Steve’s heart was pounding, too. He could feel it against his fingers where they were digging into his chest. 

Steve sighed. “I think I know what Stark’s next step needs to be.”

“Admit he’s an egotistical, untalented hack?”

“Stop that.” Despite Bucky’s several attempts to change his mind, Steve always respected and defended Stark. “He’s very talented. He’s just...eager. Are you OK?”

At that question, Bucky figured he should find out. He shifted out of Steve’s tight hold until he sat on the ground beside him, stretching his legs and arms, testing for pain. He had none. “I seem to be, surprisingly, entirely in one piece.” He gave Steve a quirked grin, one brow raised. “I probably don’t even have to ask about you.”

Steve smiled; he sat with his knees bent, facing Bucky. “I’m fine.”

Bucky glanced around. They’d tumbled into a wooded area not far from a road that followed the edge of farmland. Beyond the field, Bucky could see a city. “Where did we end up, anyway?

Steve pulled off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. “It would seem we’re just outside of Paris.”

Bucky’s gaze went wide. “Paris?!”

Steve shrugged. “You have to admit, we covered a lot of ground, very fast.”

“Paris,” Bucky said again. “Should we make sure we didn’t rocket back in time as well? Do the Allies still have Paris? Do we have to restart the liberation?” He gestured to Steve’s uniform. “If the Nazis are living in Versailles, you’d better strip out of that outfit as fast as that damned cycle moves.”

Steve raised one brow, and quirked his grin. “Calm down, soldier. I think we’re OK in Paris. For now. You still have that transponder on you?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky patted down his cargo pants. “I lost everything in my pockets that wasn’t tied in or buttoned down. Yes, still have it!” He dug the beacon from his pocket and held it aloft. Steve took it from him and shifted a flat switch; a red light started flashing and the built-in compass spun. The other compass, set in the matching transponder, would point towards its partner.

“So, just as planned, we set the beacon and they’ll come find us.” 

“Except they believed we went in the complete opposite direction. It’ll take them a while to get to us. What do we do until then?

Steve glanced over his shoulder and looked towards the city. “We lie low in Paris.”

When Steve turned back, Bucky loved the grin on his face. It was wide and mischievous, a rare sight on Steve, especially since the war. It reminded Bucky of long ago days, easier days, when Steve was a skinny kid in Brooklyn who let Bucky drag him to pool halls and tease him and nothing kept them apart for long.

Bucky smiled back, then feigned a thoughtful look. “My mother once told me the pastries here are good. Maybe we should go have one.”

Steve chuckled. “Maybe we should.”

 

...to be continued, in Paris!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jediartemis for the research help on Paris post liberation. =)

They’d dragged the mangled bike behind a bush and covered it with broken branches. They expected Howard would want to rescue the bike as much as The Howling Commandos would be rescuing them.

Steve also decided to tone down his uniform. He kept his blue pants, but borrowed the army-issue knit sweater Bucky wore under his blue jacket. He pulled it over his t-shirt; it fit a bit snug, but Bucky wasn’t complaining. He decided it looked a hell of a lot better on Steve than him. They dumped out a duffle bag of pans and a few rations to fashion it into a cover for Steve’s shield, making it look like a backpack when they stuffed it with the remains of Steve’s uniform and mounted it as he generally carried his shield.

Bucky confessed to having a small collection of francs that he’d won off Dernier in a sketchy game of poker ( _“Did you cheat him?” “Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answer to, Steve.”_ ); it wasn’t much, but it would get them by for a few days, if they were careful.

As they strolled into the city, they looked like any other two soldiers on leave in Paris.

The city still enjoyed the joyful energy of recent liberation. There were brightly painted signs proclaiming “ _Vive la France, vive la République_ ” hanging in the window of many shop fronts and from lamp posts. Young women followed them, smiling, speaking delightful French. So Bucky gave his most charming grin and said the only lines Dernier taught him that he could remember:

“ _Bonjour. Comment allez-vous? Vos cheveux ne puent pas_.” The girls always giggled at least, and waved, but then hurried away. Bucky figured he butchered the accent, anyway.

After the second time Bucky plied his line, Steve laughed aloud, and said, “You’re an idiot.”

Bucky turned, walking backwards so he could wink at Steve. “Does my flirting upset you?”

Steve raised one brow and gave a slow shake of his head. “If that’s you flirting, I have nothing to worry about.” He then grabbed Bucky by the arm and pulled him out of the way of a bicycler that peddled towards them. The man cheered as he rode by. Steve still had Bucky by the arm; he leaned closer and added, “You were much smoother in Brooklyn.”

Bucky snorted softly, thinking of his foolish efforts back then. All the girls he took dancing, all the times he kissed them on street corners just so the entire neighborhood would see and chatter about James Barnes and his wanton ways.

Bucky shrugged. “I had to try harder in Brooklyn.”

“Why’s that?”

“So no one would notice I kept eyeing up my best friend.”

Bucky always loved it when he could make Steve blush.

~*~

After a few more blocks, they found a café that served a rich coffee and small croissant, though Steve speculated that any flour this place had likely came from a black market. It was a quieter corner of the city and they sat at a table and chairs along the sidewalk. Steve moved his chair so that he could sit close to Bucky. Bucky made sure their legs touched under the table.

The coffee was strong, not unlike the swill Morita made, but it tasted a thousand times better. And Bucky’s mother was right; the French knew how to make a pastry. He suspected he’d never taste anything like this ever again.

For a day to be stranded in Paris, ripped from the battlefield, they had a beautiful one. Blue sky shown through large, puffy clouds and the Fall weather was cool enough to be comfortable, warm enough to make Bucky forget the frigid Alps they’d spent most of their time.

Bucky watched birds fly, scatter and land again, pecking after crumbs in the street. They chirped a lilting song he swore they never heard near the front. Bucky studied how the afternoon sun glinted off golden strands of Steve’s hair. 

He buried his smile in another sip of coffee.

Steve tapped his fingers against the rim of his coffee cup. “This is the most time we’ve ever spent together without someone else right next to us. Not since we were kids.”

Bucky snorted softly and nodded; this was true. Privacy had become the greatest luxury of all. Between SSR and Stark and Agent Carter and the war itself, it sometimes felt like the whole world conspired to take Steve away from him. There had been simplicity in having a crush on his soft-hearted, artistic friend; there had been something pure in giving him his first kiss and exploring their bodies together and never needing more than that.

But it couldn’t last. 

The war came and Bucky had felt ashamed that he kept avoiding enlistment while Steve begged for it. He couldn’t let himself be _less_ in Steve eyes. He had no choice: enlist and leave Steve behind; be the warrior that Steve longed to be and, by proxy, keep him safe. But Steve couldn’t be satisfied; he couldn’t stay home and give to the war effort with scrap metal collection or helping hang banners at the USO. He had to volunteer to change his body and life.

Steve bumped his knee against Bucky’s and smiled, but then said, “You’ve become rather quiet.”

Bucky quirked his grin, took another drink of coffee, but never took his eyes off Steve’s face. Then he said, “I’m enjoying the view.”

Steve dipped his head with another smile and slight pinking of his ears.

It wasn’t a lie; he could stare at Steve’s face and eyes for hours and never be bored. But his thoughts were getting the best of him, as they often did. He kept silent again as Steve called over the café lady and, using the French Dernier and Jones were teaching him, engaged her in conversation. Whatever he said, she giggled and tugged on a salt and pepper curl before hurrying away and returning with another carafe of coffee.

Bucky suspected this one was on the house.

If Steve had to come to Europe to fight, he at least came far more prepared and heavily armed than Bucky had; at least he was safer that way. Even if, sometimes, Bucky resented those who had turned his friend into a science experiment. Even if he couldn’t look at Stark without remembering he’d been one of the first to drag Steve from the safety Bucky so desperately wanted for him.

Sometimes it seemed even when he was a hair’s breath away from Bucky, Steve felt further away than ever before.

Steve filled both their cups with fresh coffee; steam wafted upwards and Bucky appreciated the scent, reminding him of Brooklyn diners and his mother’s kitchen.

“No one is paying us any attention at all,” Steve said.

“Except for the café hostess you just charmed,” Bucky added as he sipped his coffee.

“Except for her.” Steve set down the carafe and bumped his knee against Bucky’s again. “But, I was thinking, I could sit here and hold your hand if I wanted to. No one would bat an eyelash at us.”

Bucky stared at Steve for a moment, a bit surprised. Steve had been so focused lately, valiantly determined to end Hydra, to stop Schmidt, they often didn’t talk of much else. Maybe risking his life in the side car of Stark’s death trap had, oddly, become Bucky’s reward?

Bucky bumped his knee back at Steve’s. “Is that what you want to do? Hold my hand?” He grinned, quietly thankful that Steve unknowingly (or maybe knowingly) could draw him from his darker thoughts. Bucky made a show of running his tongue across his teeth, then faked a concerned expression. “Isn’t that bit corny, Steve?”

Steve clicked his tongue and raised one brow, looking even more confident than usual. “It didn’t bother you back home.”

“Well—“ Bucky drawled out the word, then said, “We were fifteen.”

Steve put up both hands, as if giving up. “Fine, if it’s not good enough for you now—“

“Give me your damn hand.” 

Steve still had the long, artistic fingers of their youth, but he had endless strength in his hand, so much that Bucky could tell that he was being careful, gentle. They threaded their fingers together and Bucky rested their joined hands on his thigh. He rubbed his thumb across Steve’s wrist.

Softly, he said, “I have to confess, I do miss this.”

“You’ve always been the sentimental one.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sighed and looked at their hands together. It looked different than he remembered, from when they used to sit in the tiny tenement boiler room where Bucky lived with his family, quietly together, holding hands and talking of Steve’s mom and her illness, or Bucky’s dock job so he could help his parents pay the rent. But it still looked familiar and good.

“It’ll probably take them a few days to get here. We’d have time to find a room and do...other things.”

Bucky looked up and raised one brow; this day was full of surprises. He cleared his throat, then spoke quietly. “Um...you mean things other than our hands shoved down the front of each other’s uniform for ten minutes before the rest of camp wakes up?”

Steve’s grin widened; he stared into his coffee cup. “Yeah. Other things.” His ears had turned pink again.

Bucky laughed, dropping his head back to spill his amusement towards the sky. “God, Steve, you _still_ sound like an altar boy!” Then he leaned close to add, softer, “Even talking about pulling my Johnson. How do you manage that?”

Steve chuckled and leaned towards Bucky. “I don’t know. Father Xavier once told me to stay away from you. That’d you be a bad influence on me.”

Bucky raised his brow. “He had a point.”

They laughed together, leaning into the table, their bodies straining towards each other. Bucky held Steve’s hand a little tighter. He wasn’t sure when he last felt this close to Steve. He studied Steve’s face and saw a joy and lightness in his eyes that he hadn’t seen in years. Steve believed strongly in his cause, in his place in the world, with the gift he’d been given. But Bucky wondered what he sacrificed without even realizing. He wanted to kiss him, right then. To cup his jaw and softly show him how wonderful Bucky knew he was.

Bucky cleared his throat again. “So, about that room?” He figured they’d have to fine some cheap flop house; they didn’t have enough money for much more than that. Perhaps Steve could turn on his charm and talent with French for a private room—or hope their roommates were too intoxicated to notice what might be happening in the bed across the way.

“Right,” Steve said, then gestured for the café lady to return. Bucky let go of Steve’s hand and leaned back in his seat, trying not to think too much about their plans. No sense in embarrassing the nice woman.

Steve and the lady spoke again and, before long, she nodded her head with an eagerness that surprised Bucky. She looked wide-eyed and her salt and pepper curls bounced with her movement. Bucky couldn’t imagine what the woman would be agreeing to with that much vigor. But then Steve dug into his pocket, the small one where he kept a few personal items in a leather pouch. Had he been holding out on Bucky? Did he have money he failed to mention?

Steve pulled out a small silver ring with a tiny yellow stone. He offered it up to the woman.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. He knew that ring! He remembered Steve’s mother admiring it in the sunlight of the sanatorium anteroom. He remembered her talking about how Steve’s father had saved all his money from a year of night shifts at a factory. The Rogers never had much, but she prized the little ring and never once considered selling it off when times were the hardest. That ring meant everything to her.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist, pulling it down to the table before the woman could take the ring. She made a little miffed noise.

Bucky leaned across the table. “What are you doing?”

Steve looked surprisingly calm; he smiled. “We can’t afford a room, Bucky. Not with your ill-gained francs. She has a room upstairs, a nice one. It’s ours for two days with this.”

Bucky shook his head. “But your mother—“

Steve gestured with the ring, causing Bucky to let go of his wrist. Steve seemed to be peering directly into Bucky’s soul. “If this ring buys me 48 hours alone with you, then it’s exceeded its actual value. " "Bucky,” Steve said, his smile spreading. “You’re more important to me than this ring.”

Bucky couldn’t recall a moment when he didn’t have a line, didn’t have a come-back or joiner. But, right now, he could say nothing to that. He swallowed at the knot in his throat, sat back and watched Steve hand over his mother’s ring.

When the woman hurried back into the café, presumably to return with a key for them, Steve gave Bucky a concerned look.

“Are you OK with this?”

It took Bucky a moment, but he nodded. He nodded with the same vigor he saw in that woman. “Yeah, Steve.” His smile widened, despite his efforts to not think too much about what was next to come for them. “I’m really OK.”

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ _Bonjour. Comment allez-vous? Vos cheveux ne puent pas_.” = Hello. How are you? Your hair doesn't stink. 
> 
> No one has told Bucky that Dernier was messing with him. Both Gabriel and Steve have actually backed Dernier up when Bucky questioned the phrase.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for being patient. The next part (and more fic in general) will not be so long in coming as this part was. Yikes, RL sometimes!

The room, tucked into the attic, was as nice as Steve promised. It had a cast-iron framed bed which didn’t quite fit against the sloping ceiling. But the bed had pillows and fresh linens and a patchwork quilt pieced together with red, white and blue fabric. There was one window with airy curtains which danced as a light breeze blew through the open panes. At the window was a small padded seat that looked out over the cobbled street from three stories up. Near the door were a table and chairs, and a wardrobe. The walls were painted in pale light blue and the plaster had chipped in places, but, as whole, Bucky thought it was the most beautiful room he’d ever seen. Like something out of an MGM musical. 

On the table sat a bottle of white wine, two smudged glasses, and a tray with a domed cover. Bucky lifted it to reveal a loaf of bread and a small plate of gristly looking meat—but meat, nonetheless.

Bucky looked at Steve. “Is this actual beef?”

Steve unloaded his shield-turned-backpack onto the floor and grinned. “I drive a hard bargain.”

Bucked stared down at the tray again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had actual, real meat that wasn’t a brick of K-ration sausage. “I’m suddenly very hungry.”

“It can wait.”

Bucky barely had a second to drop the dome cover back into place before Steve grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him hard against his body. It still surprised Bucky sometimes, the size and build of Steve’s frame after having become well-versed in every slight curve and sharp edge he’d had before. Bucky loved that small body because of the heart and soul it held, but he’d be a lying fool if he claimed that Steve’s new attributes didn’t make his mouth water.

The kiss started soft, as it often did between them. Their kisses couldn’t always develop into something else, something more, so there were kisses of affection, kisses to remind each other they were still together and alive, often done in the deep night when no one could hear or see them.

Bucky figured the last time he’d kissed Steve in daylight was in Brooklyn.

Everything felt familiar and languid, gentle touches and lingering, light kisses.

Then Steve moaned.

He’d made it throaty, a needy sound that Bucky hadn’t heard in a long time. They always had to be so quiet; they always had to be concerned. 

The sound sparked something in between them, an eagerness and delight. Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair and then cupped his jaw. The kiss became deeper, more intense. Almost frantic.

Steve moaned again and took a step forward, guiding Bucky backwards. Bucky grabbed on, wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders as Steve grabbed him at the nape, tipping his head back and devouring his mouth.

Bucky groaned so deep, he felt it rumble in his gut.

They slammed against the door and it rattled, but it didn’t stop them. Steve pulled open Bucky’s jacket, pulling apart each buckle until he could shove the coat from Bucky’s shoulders. He then slid his mouth along Bucky’s jaw line, leaving Bucky to stare up at the ceiling, gasping, stunned at Steve’s forcefulness. Was this what it’d been like for Steve when they were young and Bucky had taken him by the waist and pulled him down to the bed to cover his body? Had he felt this same fear and arousal, excitement and freedom? 

Anything seemed possible.

Steve licked Bucky’s earlobe, which gave Bucky the most intense shiver. He closed his eyes and sighed. But then, with his lips moving against the shell of Bucky’s ear, Steve whispered, “I want to try something.”

Bucky opened his eyes again and smiled. Did Steve remember that’s what Bucky had said to him the first time they’d opened each others' trousers and touched? Bucky had mumbled the words, so nervous and uncertain that he would have taken them back in his next breath if Steve hadn’t said, “OK,” with such trust and nervousness of his own that Bucky had found the courage to place his hand on Steve’s belt buckle and start something they’d never stopped.

“Tell me.” Bucky arched his neck and Steve followed the lead, kissing a line along his pulse. 

“Dum Dum had some pictures. Dirty pictures...” Steve murmured against Bucky’s skin.

Bucky felt his excitement spike. He’d seen Dum Dum’s pictures. They were the filthiest things he’d ever laid eyes on, trashy European photographs that were rough around the edges because they’d been handled so much. Bucky believed Dugan got them in trade with a Dutch soldier. He’d been stockpiling his chocolate rations for just such a reason. But the images were nearly all girls, always naked, a few had them tied up with ropes, others they simply posed in provocative ways, and a few more showed them engaged in various sexual acts. 

Bucky was actually surprised Dugan had dared to show them to his seemingly clean-cut captain. 

“I saw one and I thought—I wanted to...” But Steve stopped, both talking and kissing. He’d pressed his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky turned his head enough to see that Steve’s ears were pink.

Bucky smiled. “Just do it, Steve, whatever it is. I already proved I’d follow you anywhere. I want whatever you want to do.”

Bucky’s words seemed to give Steve his conviction back. He grabbed Bucky by the jaw with both hands and kissed him again, hard and deep. He drew back from the kiss slowly, nudging his nose against Bucky’s cheek and saying, “OK,” in a soft, eager way that was too familiar to be accidental.

When Steve lowered himself to his knees, Bucky’s breath left him. He watched in aroused awe as Steve settled himself on his heels, thighs apart, and reached for Bucky’s trousers. Bucky knew then which image Steve had seen. He silently praised Dum Dum and every effort he’d made to obtain those dirty pictures.

Steve loosened Bucky’s pants and pulled them down to his hips, drawing his undershorts with them. Bucky meant to offer to help, that Steve didn’t have to undress him, but when he opened his mouth, he voiced another pressing thought: “Take off your shirt.”

Steve stilled his hands on Bucky’s hips and looked up at him with a grin. He then reached down and, in a motion like choreography, grabbed the borrowed knit shirt and his undershirt and pulled up, drawing both over his head and tossing them aside.

All that remained from the waist up were Steve’s dogtags, dangling against his bare chest. 

Steve reached for Bucky’s trousers again and slowly drew them down, exposing Bucky’s arousal, until pants and undershorts rested at his thighs. Then he leaned so close that Bucky could feel his breath brush over his terrifically oversensitive skin.

“Did you see the pictures?”

Bucky swallowed hard and nodded; he didn’t trust voice not to crack when he spoke.

“I saw one picture where the girl did this.” Steve then closed his eyes, tilted his head and drew his tongue up from the base of Bucky’s erection to the tip.

“Oh God.” Bucky thumped his head against the door as a thousand sensations flowed through his body and his mind. Just the knowledge alone that Steve—his Steve and _America’s_ Steve—kneeled before him to lick his Johnson would be enough to make any sane man erupt.

Any sane man who liked it when other men licked his cock.

Steve sat back on his haunches and glanced up at Bucky. “It didn’t taste as bad as I expected.”

Bucky felt himself trembling from sheer arousal, his body aching for another touch. “I don’t have it in me to make a K-ration joke right now.”

Steve laughed as he drew the back of his hand across his lower lip, looking up at Bucky through his lashes, like a girl might. But Steve was no girl and Bucky had never found that teasing glance so alluring until now.

Bucky swallowed hard. “Please tell me you’re not stopping there.” 

Steve grinned.

Steve’s hand on him felt familiar, the strong yet gentle stroke that would accelerate as they each climbed towards the end—because that was generally how they did this: mutual, with their hands inside each others' undershorts. They’d never even taken turns, perhaps too impatient and impulsive as lads to make the moment last and then, later, too rushed and limited to try anything else.

Until today.

Bucky whimpered as Steve kept his motion languid, only occasionally drawing his thumb across the tip. Bucky had never felt so close and yet so far from climax in his life! Wasn’t it supposed to be a race?

“Steve...”

“Oh,” Steve said, a teasing tone in his voice, “You want me to go faster?”

Of course, he didn’t. 

“Christ.” Bucky thumped his head against the door again.

Then the sensation changed. Bucky looked down and watched as Steve used his mouth again, kissing, licking. He nudged his nose against Bucky’s shaft, like a cat preening for attention. He arched towards Bucky’s body with such sensuousness, Bucky could hardly believe it.

“God.”

And then Steve took Bucky’s arousal into his mouth and drew hard on it.

Bucky moaned; why hadn’t they done something like this sooner? “You’re so good at this!” Bucky gasped as Steve did the motion again. Bucky’d had a few girls back in Brooklyn make some half-hearted attempts and he always knew he’d been missing out, especially the way the other fellas in the 107th had talked. But, this time! Steve took to it like an art-form.

Bucky groaned again, panting hard. “Is it another endless perk of the serum? Do I need to thank Howard for this?”

Steve stopped and sat back again, wiping his wet chin with the back of his hand. “Can we not talk about Howard right now?”

Breathless, Bucky nodded. “Not a problem.” He reached for Steve’s head, threading his fingers through his hair, as Steve came forward again and licked then mouthed over Bucky’s shaft. Then taking Bucky into his mouth again, he established a mind-melting motion, bobbing his head over Bucky’s erection.

At that, it didn’t take Bucky long to come.

Spent, Bucky slid down the door until he sat, his legs spread wide apart and Steve still kneeling between them. It was only then that Bucky saw how Steve had loosened his own pants and rubbed his hand over his cloth-covered arousal.

“So, did that feel good?”

Bucky lolled his head against the door. “No, I’m miserable. Can’t you tell?” He finished with a wink. Steve’s smile spread and he rested both hands against his thighs, but only for a moment; he soon rubbed himself through his shorts again.

Bucky grinned. “In fact, it’s your turn to be this miserable.”

Steve’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “You’d better, sergeant.”

Bucky snorted a soft chuckle at Steve’s eagerness. Then he tipped his chin forward, a little gesture to what stood behind Steve. “But I want you in that bed.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He stood and turned away for the bed until Bucky gave a little whistle to draw him back. “Wait.” Bucky held out his hand. “Help me up. You made my legs weak.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” Steve took Bucky’s hand and pulled hard enough to bring Bucky quickly to his feet and crashing against Steve’s chest again.

Their mouths met and they both grinned into the deep kiss.

After a moment, Bucky pulled back with a little hum. “So is that what I taste like?”

After all Steve had just done, Bucky couldn’t help a surprised chuckle to see Steve’s ears turn pink. “I guess so.”

Bucky was glad some things would never change.

Bucky had every intention of making Steve whimper and whine and beg for completion, taking the same unhurried approach that Steve had taken. But the sight Steve created after he’d shoved his pants and shorts to the floor and climbed backwards into the bed, his gaze fixed on Bucky the entire time, made Bucky realize he didn’t have it in him to delay Steve pleasure. All he wanted in the world was to give Steve whatever he wanted, as often as possible.

Bucky kicked his pants and shorts the rest of the way off and climbed forward until he braced himself over Steve’s body. He loved the way Steve’s breath quickened the closer Bucky came.

He silently thanked his boot camp drill sergeant for the daily goal of 125 pushups that now allowed him to carefully lower himself down to kiss Steve without collapsing onto him. If he’d known then he’d be using the skill for sex, he would have been more enthusiastic about it at the time.

They kissed with a mix of sweet, small kisses and deep, searching ones that made them both moan. Then Bucky backed up, climbing down Steve’s body until he lay between his legs and he gently bumped his nose against Steve’s arousal.

Steve panted, eyes wide and glassy. “Damn, Bucky.”

Bucky didn’t need more encouragement than that. He did the same sweeping lick from base to tip that Steve had done, but he didn’t toy or tease. He gave his mouth and tongue over to drawing hard on Steve’s dick and even cupping him between the legs to give him all the pleasure he could.

It didn’t take Steve long to come, either.

Bucky had to prompt Steve to move, but he worked the quilt out from underneath them and then pulled it over as he lay down beside Steve. Steve swooped his arm across Bucky’s shoulder and drew him against his chest. They kissed again, more languid this time, just as they’d kissed to start: soft, tender and familiar.

Then Bucky thought he might have dozed for a while. He woke thinking of the beef they hadn’t eaten yet.

When he opened his eyes, Steve was watching him, a gentle smile on his face. He brushed hair from Bucky’s forehead. Sometimes, Steve could be so openly affectionate, it overwhelmed Bucky and he always pulled some joke forward to break the spell.

Sometimes, they way Steve looked at him, Bucky thought he might start to cry.

This time wasn’t any different. Bucky cleared his throat, a little theatrically, then asked: “How _did_ you get so good at this? It couldn’t have been just those pictures.”

Steve raised his brow and then chuckled. “Apparently the French consider this their specialty.”

Bucky immediately regretted the question and squeezed his eyes shut against any potential, un-beckoned imaginings involving Dernier. “You can stop right there. I take it back, I don’t need to know.”

“He was drunk and talking a lot.”

“What did I just say?” Bucky said, edged with accusation.

“So I asked a few questions that he didn’t even remember the next day. Don’t be such a prude.”

Bucky hit his own chest with his open palm, feigning shock. “Me? A prude?” He shifted to share a pillow with Steve. “Should I prove to you how much I am not a prude?”

They kissed again, but before it could develop further, Bucky drew back and asked, “How long until they come for us?”

Steve’s smile waned. “Too soon.”

TBC….


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amused. This was supposed to just be this little one-shot, side story and it just grew and I kinda fell in love with these 3 days in Paris and I hope you did, too. Thanks for reading!

Late that first night, they made a picnic of the beef and bread and wine on the patchwork quilt, still naked as the day they were born, laughing and teasing each other, like they always did back in Brooklyn. Bucky figured the wine had been watered down because neither of them got drunk—though Steve suspected he couldn’t anymore, thanks to the serum. Nevertheless, it tasted good and they hadn’t needed spirits to lighten the mood, anyway.

They enjoyed each other’s mouths again deep into the night before falling asleep tangled together. In the morning, Bucky hid under the quilt while Steve quickly dressed and answered a knock on their door. The café lady brought in a basin of hot water for washing, a carafe of coffee and bits of dried fish for breakfast. She’d also crushed lavender flowers into the water. It made the room smell like a Spring field.

In the afternoon, they toured the city, seeing all the famous sights. 

Bucky loved the height of the Eifel tower; he enjoyed leaning far over the railing and he suspected Steve’s fingers itched to grab him by the collar and yank him back—which served him right after years of Bucky dragging him out of back alleys and pool halls, his face scraped from yet another fisticuffs. 

“Can you imagine how many Hydra combatants I could take out from his perspective?” Bucky said, leaning over again. “Like fish in a barrel.”

“Then I guess it’s a shame that Hydra doesn’t have a presence in Paris and your long-range rifle is with the Commandos.”

“Damn right.”

Steve loved the Arc de Triomphe and Montmartre. He awed at the view from the latter.

“Someday, after the war, maybe I’ll come back here and sketch or even try my hand at painting. I’ve never had the chance.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Steve.”

They bought fresh bread and cheese with Bucky’s last francs and headed back to the room to lounge in bed. Somewhere nearby, someone was playing Joplin on a tinny piano. It actually sounded pretty damn good.

They’d been quiet for a while, peacefully enjoying each others' company. Except the quiet only made Bucky think, which didn’t make it very peaceful for him. When he stopped himself for the third time from ruminating about needles and pain and being strapped to a table, he floundered for something something—anything else—to think about. His thoughts swirled around to the day before.

Without ceremony, he said, “About the ring.”

Steve sighed. “Bucky, don’t worry yourself on that.”

Bucky twisted onto his side to face Steve. They had their undershorts on and nothing more; the quilt covered their legs. “Why didn’t you hold onto it?”

“For what?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. He could always tell when Steve was being purposefully obtuse. “Oh, I don’t know, a promise ring? Give it to some girl—oh hell, let’s be honest, give it to Agent Carter? I’m not blind.”

It hadn’t been the greatest feeling in the world, watching such a beautiful and accomplished woman flirt with Steve and to see Steve have that nervous edge about him that told Bucky he liked her enough—honestly, liked her a lot. But Bucky didn’t doubt what he saw.

Steve shrugged and pulled another hunk of bread from the loaf they had wrapped in a swath of linen and tucked between them. “I’m not sure I’m destined to have something like that.”

“Love and marriage?”

“A normal life, Buck.” Steve sounded exasperated and Bucky realized Steve had been enjoying the silence and peace and Bucky had shattered it with a loaded question. Bucky silently cursed himself; he never quite knew when to shut up.

Steve chewed the bread, then added. “I didn’t have it in Brooklyn and I certainly don’t have it now. This probably sounds incredibly vain, but I always felt I was destined for something more. I figured simple things like love and marriage weren’t for me.”

Bucky flopped onto his back. He wanted to apologize, but that would mean explaining why he couldn’t stand the quiet any longer and he didn’t want to ruin the moment even more. “No,” he said instead, “it doesn’t sound vain at all. Not to me. Because I always knew that about you, too.” Then he made a sweeping gesture down the length of Steve’s body. “I didn’t know it was going to be this, though.”

Steve grinned, then looked thoughtful, considering his next works. “Excellent performer of...fellatio?”

Bucky laughed, loudly, surprised. He turned onto his side again and tried to look very serious for a moment, adding. “Professional grade.”

They both laughed, without reserve, like they were kids again—like they were ten years old and sleeping over at the others' apartment, ten seconds away from a parent banging on the wall and chastising them for being too loud. They curled towards each other, chuckling so hard they snorted when they tried to stop. When their laughter subsided, Bucky nestled his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“No, really. I would never have picked the military for you—“

Steve spoke over Bucky. “I think you actively tried to stop me.”

Bucky made a face, but continued on, “—but that you would be great, that has never been in doubt.”

They fell quiet again and, for once, Bucky’s thoughts stayed good and light, thinking fondly over the last two days. He never would have guessed that Stark’s asinine contraption would have worked out so well for him.

“You can stop hating Howard over my change, you know.”

Bucky jolted. Was Steve able to read his mind, now? “I don’t hate—“

But Steve stopped the words cold with a look that said, _this is me you’re talking to, I know you._

Bucky looked away and with a sigh, said, “Yeah, all right.”

“He wasn’t alone and he didn’t pick me. He had the technology, that’s all. I’m not going to claim this has been easy, but I’m glad that I’ve been given this gift and that I’ve been able to do good things with it.” He shrugged his right shoulder, giving Bucky a little push against his head. “And I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Bucky put up his hands. “Where else would I be?”

Softly, Steve said, “You could have taken leave.” The tone surprised Bucky, as if Steve felt sorry for asking Bucky to join the Commandos. Bucky turned onto his side again and looked right at Steve. “No. Where else would I be, Steve, than wherever you are?” Bucky grinned, to lighten the moment. “My mom said it. Find Steve and you’ll find my lazy ass son.”

Steve pushed at Bucky’s chest. “She did not say that.”

Bucky chuckled, but then said, softly, seriously, “No, okay. She said, find Steve Rogers and you’ll know James isn’t far. It’s always been that way.”

The look on Steve’s face made Bucky’s eyes sting a little. He wasn’t surprised that Steve turned up onto his side and leaned forward for a kiss. Bucky took the kiss deeper and they shifted closer together.

With their legs tangled, they moved their bodies in a rhythm that felt good until they both needed it to be more. They returned to familiar ground, hands between their bodies, and a race towards completion. Bucky buried his face against Steve’s neck as he came, groaning Steve’s name.

After, Steve drifted off to sleep and Bucky did for a little while, at least. For a time, he simply watched Steve at rest, watched his dark lashes flutter against his cheeks as a dream overtook him. And, for now, he tried to at least enjoy the simple quiet.

Focused on Steve’s face in sleep, he felt rather successful.

~*~

The next morning, Bucky was awoken by Dum Dum’s booming voice.

“YOU ASSHOLES BETTER BE IN THAT ROOM UP THERE OR SOME JACK-ABOUT STOLE YOUR GEAR SO I’LL BE COMING UP THERE TO KICK HIS ASS.”

Bucky scrambled from the bed, frantically pulled a discarded shirt over his head then dove for the open window. “Stand down, Dugan! We’re here, we’re fine, no ass-kicking needed.”

Standing in front of the café, out in the street and staring up at Bucky were Dum Dum, Stark and Dernier. Bucky wasn’t quite ready to see Dernier, yet, given Steve’s little confession.

Dugan tipped his head to one side; his gaze narrowed. “Do I smell lavender drifting down from that room, princess?”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder to see a fresh wash basin on the tabletop. He turned back to Dugan. “Of course not.” He tried to sound appropriately appalled. “We had to stay somewhere until you assholes showed up. Some French lady decided to be nice to us.” Bucky shifted his weight to one arm and saluted Stark. “Thanks for the ass-backwards ride, Howard.”

Howard half-heartedly saluted back. “Any time. You killed my bike.”

Bucky made a dismissive noise. “That bike was suicidal. That was a completely self-inflicted wound.”

Much to Bucky’s surprise, Howard snorted a small laugh and smiled, shaking his head.

Dugan cut in. “Get your asses moving up there. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover after all this. We sent Morita, Jones and Montgomery on ahead, but Phillips is fit to be tied with our sharpshooter and leader on a MIA holiday courtesy Stark Industries.” Dugan frowned. “Where’s Cap?”

Bucky looked over his shoulder again. Steve had sat up in bed, his hair mussed, the quilt pulled over his lap. They hadn’t bothered putting their undershorts back on after another round of French Specialty last night. As it was, Bucky leaned out the window naked from the waist down. But only Steve could see that.

Buck turned back to Dugan again and shrugged. “He must have hit the john. We’ll be down shortly. Over and out!”

Bucky ducked back inside, but not before pulling the window panes closed.

Steve stretched and then ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.”

Bucky climbed back into the bed. “Are you kidding me? This was heaven.” He grabbed Steve’s face in his hands and kissed him again. He hoped he might get the chance to kiss him again that night when they settled down to camp, wherever that might be, but they both knew there were no guarantees. As if in response to that thought, the kiss turned intense very quickly and they had to pull themselves apart.

“Dammit.”

Steve didn’t swear often and Bucky usually loved it when he did, but it wasn’t so simple this time.

The moment they walked outside, Bucky knew Steve would be Captain America again and would live that role to the hilt. He respected him for it, but it distanced them. But Bucky also figured Paris would last him for a long while. It would remind him that the Steve he knew—the Steve he loved, even if he couldn’t say the words—was never really that far away.

There were some jeers and cheering when they finally made it to the cobblestone street. Stark apologized to Steve for the malfunction and Dum Dum tried to get Bucky to confess to bedding a French hooker.

“You look like you did shit and I know it. Don’t know why you’re pretending otherwise.”

Steve and Dernier exchanged animated French, as Steve probably told him about visiting certain sights.

As they were walking from the city, Bucky lingered close to Steve and pretended bumping against him had been on accident. Steve’s glance and grin let Bucky know he didn’t accidently bump him back, either.

Pitched low, so only Steve could hear him, Bucky said, “I swear I’ll never forget this.”

Steve bumped him again. “You’d better not.”

 

THE END


End file.
